


kerosene

by everbloom



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gang World, Ambiguous Relationships, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Breathplay, Clothed Sex, Creampie, Kick It! AU, M/M, Motorcycle Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sharing Clothes, Smut, Spanking, kinda? it's barely mentioned, more clothes than johnny had on in the mv
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:41:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23190097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everbloom/pseuds/everbloom
Summary: Mark inhales a steady breath in an attempt to rein his rapidly beating heart to a normal rhythm. He swallows, peering over his shoulder, "When you said you wanted to go for a ride with me, this isn't what I had in mind."
Relationships: Mark Lee/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 32
Kudos: 651





	kerosene

**Author's Note:**

> If it wasn't for pure jorniness, I wouldn't have been able to spit out a 5k+ pwp. It's really not my proudest work but it exists and I'm only a little sorry. I tried to shoehorn some plot into this but then gave up.
> 
> As per usual, this is proofread to the best of my ability.

Mark hears it before he sees it: the familiar purr of the engine growing louder until it becomes deafening. The mere sight of the obnoxious yellow motorcycle pulling into the garage is enough to reignite the small amount of annoyance simmering in his gut. He watches the other man kill the engine, but the silence does nothing to quell the frustration arising in him.

It's the brief pause that makes him think the other man is staring back at him underneath the obscurity of the tinted visor, serving as a barrier, something to buy time, an excuse, whatever it may be, it's unnerving.

There's a moment where the silence starts feeling like a vacuum in space, his thoughts ripped from the safety of his own head and balances precariously on his tongue, about to overflow. He has to bite his tongue to stop himself from speaking before the helmet comes off. He wants to talk openly, without something impeding between them, so he holds his gaze with pinched brows and enough vigour that Mark starts to believe he could win a stare down with someone whose face is completely obscured.

A beat passes. Just when Mark is about to waver, the helmet finally comes off.

"If I didn't know why you were pissed, I’d think you look hot like this," Johnny comments with a jerk of his chin towards where Mark is leaning against his car. With one hand, he hangs the helmet off the handlebar by its strap, his other hand runs through his hair, ruffling the strands vaguely back into place. Mark pretends he doesn't acknowledge how good Johnny's hair looks at this length, or how Johnny looks ridiculously hot with his thick, defined thighs framing his bike.

He presses his lips together into a firm line, "I'm not pissed."

"Okay, good—"

"I'm disappointed." _Annoyed_.

"That's worse," Johnny mutters, not quite pained, but a little upset.

"You've been gone for two hours, where the fuck have you've been?" 

"Went for a ride, where else?" Johnny responds with a sheepish pat of his hand on the bike.

"Without any of your riding gear?" He gives Johnny a once over, raking his eyes along his form. He's still wearing the same red sukajan he had on before he left. Must have been a drafty cruise without any of his protective gear, Mark muses, Johnny looks a little wind flushed, fingers and cheeks tinted pink.

"I needed to clear my head." _I needed to get out of here,_ Mark thinks he hears. "Did Taeyong send you out here to come talk to me?" Johnny asks uselessly, he knows the answer already, knows how much Mark is a buffer in situations like this. How much his presence can sway Johnny's demeanour. The relieved, calm swimming in his eyes is evidence it works.

His body moves before his brain is able to process it, crossing the garage, stopping short of where Johnny is still seated on his bike, barely an arm's reach away. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket, sighing, "Does it matter if he did?"

Johnny bites his lip, contemplating. The gaze he raises is resolute, a silent acknowledgement, _yeah, it does matter_. 

"I'll wear full gear next time, I promise," he says instead.

"It's not just that," Mark exasperates, "with the shit that's been going down recently, you know better than to storm off like that, hyung."

Things haven't been ideal. Tensions between two rival gangs have been teetering recently, and the last thing they want is for any of them to get tangled into a mess that isn't theirs. It's been a mutual effort in steering clear of any problems until the heat blows over.

 _Lay low, don't get into any shit,_ he remembers Taeyong saying, pinning each and every one of them with a stern frown. Everything will be fine, business will resume as usual, he hopes.

It only takes a spark to send everyone on edge, and that came in the form of a particularly nasty argument between Johnny and Jaehyun which resulted in Johnny storming out without a second thought and Jaehyun stubbornly shutting everyone around him out.

Mark has learned over the years that Johnny isn't someone who loses his cool too easily, not without thinking things through first, but once something sends his anger over the edge, it takes more than a lot to placate him. It's never ideal to cross his path while he's still fuming, yet two hours ago, Mark felt impelled to follow Johnny out, maybe to mediate any trouble the other man might get into. Be a second head, a second body if things go to shit.

If anyone knows Johnny as well as Mark is Taeyong, and an apt hand on his shoulder tells him to leave it, leave Johnny be. It's for the best.

Time, solidarity, and a joyride on his beloved bike is enough to bring Johnny back down. That's the tune of how things usually go, and right now, that tune has been played, happily resolved. Johnny appears calmer now, and Mark feels slightly conflicted by this resolution, only because he's more concerned about Johnny's riding habits than anything.

"Then how about joining me next time?" Johnny offers, reaching an arm out towards Mark, curling it along the small of his back to pull him closer. Mark stumbles, hesitantly at first before he lets himself crowd into Johnny's space.

"I'm hoping there won't be a next time," Mark warns. He's not entirely against the idea of going for a ride with Johnny, but he would prefer if the reason was motivated by leisure than by his temperament. "On better terms, maybe."

"Right," Johnny agrees, then there's a flicker of hope in his eyes. "I'm not hearing a no."

"Sort things out with Jaehyun hyung first, then maybe I'll consider," Mark sighs.

"I will," he beams.

Mark is more intrigued than he would ever admit. 

He's never been particularly interested in motorcycles, but he can appreciate a gorgeous bike when he sees one. He still thinks the bright yellow paint is too harsh on the eyes, too salient in the streets to go unnoticed, but it's sleek and brilliant, and stands majestically in the dingy fluorescent lighting of the garage.

From where he is perched on the wooden stool by the workbench, he watches Johnny flit through his routine bike maintenance. It's systematic the way Johnny moves through each step, like machinery that works without fail. Mark is barely able to keep up with what is happening. There's equipment surrounding Johnny that he could barely name if it weren't for the sparse commentary Johnny provides each time he catches Mark's curious eyes on him.

He watches with rapt attention, and even with his curiosity periodically satisfied, he can't seem to tear his eyes away.

The motor oil had just been changed, Johnny explained, now he's seated cross legged on the polished concrete cleaning the chain with a rag whilst spraying some sort of solution along the strip of metal. 

He's watched Yukhei work on his Ducati before, and as beautiful of a motorcycle it is in all its cherry red glory, Mark easily lost interest after about ten minutes. By contrast, Johnny isn't doing anything to warrant all of Mark's attention but he still watches in awe, it's a little hypnotizing the way the grime and dirt melts off the chain. He's still far too transfixed on the whole process, but he's pretty sure he's just been staring at Johnny's biceps the entire time, or at least since Johnny had rolled up the sleeves of his t-shirt up around five minutes ago. 

Maybe motorcycles aren't as interesting as Mark thinks they are, he still observes anyway.

"What's up?" Johnny says between one of their silent lulls, shaking Mark from his half-minded daze.

"Hm?" 

"You don't usually hang around when I'm working on my bike," Johnny says, "you need something?"

"Am I not allowed to watch? I can leave." Mark pouts.

"No, I appreciate the company." A smile tugs at his lips, "Why the interest all of the sudden?"

"No reason." Mark shrugs. It's simple, he got distracted in the midst of waiting for his laundry to cycle through, it's nothing of spectacular interest.

"No reason." Johnny echoes. He gets up from his spot, stripping the grimey latex gloves off his hands, and disposes them into the trash. Johnny crosses over to the rickety old sink to wash his hands, promptly drying them with a clean rag. He turns towards Mark, the slight smirk on his face is unsettling, "Eager to ride her?"

"I—" Mark sputters, almost choking on his own spit, "I never said I wanted to.”

"Do you want to though?"

"I…" he flounders, "I don’t know?”

"How about this." Johnny returns to the bike, patting the seat, "Why don't you give her a feel for yourself?"

Mark stares at the bike, then back at Johnny, mouth agape.

"Go on," Johnny urges, "don't be shy."

"You serious, dude?" Mark cautiously approaches the bike, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket.

"I wouldn't be offering if I wasn't."

Mark gives Johnny one final glance before swinging a leg over the bike, planting himself on the seat. It's surprisingly cushiony, much more comfortable than it looks. "There. Happy?"

"Absolutely delighted," Johnny exclaims, "my baby's sitting so prettily on my other baby."

"Ugh, stop personifying your bike, it’s weird." He shifts in the seat, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. He mutters under his breath, "I'm the only one you should be calling baby."

"Is that so?" He chuckles lowly, pressing a tender kiss to Mark's temple, another to his cheek, and a final chaste kiss on his lips. Johnny hovers for a second, long enough that Mark misses his lips already. "Baby."

His heart skitters. Pet names are one thing he's able to handle, but tender kisses, and the endearing smile spreading across Johnny's face makes his heart absolutely swell.

"Is that my jacket?" Johnny muses, straightening himself up, sliding his gaze along Mark's silhouette. "I was wondering where it went."

"Hm?" Mark twists, peering at his arm. Where a _02_ is supposed to be, he finds a _29_ on the leather sleeve. He makes no move to take it off, staring blankly at the number, "Oh, I guess it is, sorry."

"No, it looks good on you," Johnny replies, "especially when you're on my bike lookin' like this."

They own the exact same jacket, mix ups are bound to happen when the only thing differentiating them is the small two digit patch on the arm. Mark still preens from the compliment because it's from Johnny and he'll gladly bask in every little thing the older man praises him on, even if that something is as mundane as wearing the wrong varsity jacket.

Mark stares at him, reaching forward to grab the handlebars with both hands, and shoots Johnny a boxy grin, "It does?"

"Yeah. You've got awful riding posture, though. Scoot your butt forward," Johnny instructs with a firm hand on his lower back. "Relax your elbows, you don't want to be putting your weight on your arms."

Out of habit, Mark does as he's told, looking up at Johnny for approval.

"Good, just like that. If I didn't know any better, you could have fooled me into thinking you actually knew how to ride." Johnny leans down, breath ghosting hot against his ear. It tickles, and Mark jolts at the way Johnny's voice drops low and thick, "You know, I can teach you."

"Who said I wanted to learn?" Mark scoffs, turning his head away so Johnny doesn't see him roll his eyes.

A second later the motorcycle slightly dips, sinking with Johnny's weight as he fits himself behind Mark. His hands slide to rest on either side of Mark's hips.

"No one said anything, but wouldn't that be a lovely sight? It'd probably make some of the other guys jealous. I'm pretty sure Yuta's been wanting to get his hands on her for a while now." Johnny smoothes his hands down Mark's thighs, gripping at the toned flesh.

"Oh." Mark blinks dumbly.

"Hm, yeah. Jaehyun too, I think." Johnny slides his hands back up, dipping underneath the jacket and onto his waist. His touch burns right through the fabric of his shirt, hot and ever so present. "They'd probably love to have a pretty boy riding with them too."

"Is that so." Mark tries to laugh, but it comes out as a breathy huff, "You calling yourself pretty?"

"Am I not?" Johnny chuckles lowly right next to his ear. "Who said it had to be me? Besides, it's too bad I'd never let them though." Johnny plants his palms flat onto Mark's chest, pulling him backwards until Mark's back is flush against his chest, his arms dropping uselessly onto his lap. "I'd be too afraid they'd be too reckless, too _rough_." 

Johnny delves his hands underneath his shirt, running them up along the expanse of his skin. 

Mark realizes, at this moment, Johnny is no longer talking about the bike, and it's the same moment he thinks he's stopped breathing, mind going printer paper blank. It's as mortifying as his brain makes it out to be, how easy it is for Johnny to get him fumbling for words. To his credit, he eventually manages to wrangle a few comprehensive syllables together, "And— and you're not?"

"Course not, she's my baby." He presses his mouth against the small exposed expanse of Mark's nape. He scrapes his teeth along the skin, goosebumps rising in their wake, "And so are you."

"I don't mind a lil' roughening up." Mark tries to exude some semblance of confidence but it rapidly crumbles into a restrained gasp with the brush of Johnny's fingers across his nipples.

"Oh I know, and I also know that the only thing you know how to ride isn't a motorcycle," Johnny whispers as if this was an intimate moment between them, words faint from any prying ears. There isn't a soul around yet it has his heart skipping a beat. If Johnny notices the way Mark's ears are burning red, or how his spine straightens, suddenly hyperaware, he doesn't comment.

Mark inhales a steady breath in an attempt to rein his rapidly beating heart to a normal rhythm. He swallows, peering over his shoulder, "When you said you wanted to go for a ride with me, this isn't what I had in mind."

"Well, neither did I, but you just look so hot on my bike." Johnny catches the shell of his right ear with his teeth, it's barely a graze and Mark absolutely shudders, eyes slipping closed. "I could eat you up right here."

"I'm starting to sense a pattern, hyung, first the car, now th—" A long drawn out moan leaves his lips, sentence cut short by the pinch of Johnny's fingers tugging at his nipples. His head drops back onto Johnny's shoulder, back arching into Johnny's hands with every roll of his fingers.

"The car was awful, we're never fucking in it ever again," Johnny says casually as if he's commenting on something as mundane as the weather.

"You think fucking on your bike would be a better idea?" Mark tries not to laugh at the memory of Johnny knocking various limbs in the backseat of his old BMW. That car was some awful shade of orange ( _ochre_ , Johnny corrected), and more offensive on the eyes than the bike. Acknowledgedly, it was a bad idea before they even begun, but in a moment that featured dark lace panties, unabashed teasing and a desperate need to get off with no place to do it, it didn't seem so awful until Johnny's larger form had to maneuver the both of them into some semblance of comfort every few moments.

"Well, I'm unlikely to hit my head this time." Johnny slides one hand down to grope the front of Mark's pants, giving him a gentle squeeze. His mind gets sent into a frenzy, eyes wide and staring blankly in front of him. He's not quite hard yet, but he's turned on enough that the thought of Johnny of bending him over the bike is enough to send blood rushing down to his dick. Johnny withdraws his hand, and it takes a lot of Mark's will power not to rut his hips forward seeking the touch.

"Only if you want to, Mark," Johnny adds.

Mark grabs his wrist, guiding his hand back to his crotch, "Just this once."

"You sure made up your mind rather quickly. Eager to ride dick but still indecisive about a cruise around the city."

"That was a separate thing?" Mark swallows.

"I don't always think with my dick, Mark. I was— I'm serious, it'll be romantic." _Romantic_ , Mark wants to shove Johnny right off this bike, talking about romantic ventures when they're about to fuck on a fucking motorcycle in a fucking garage. None of this is romantic, his dick is hard, and if he doesn't get some sort of dickening out of this, then romance is dead.

"You sure this is safe?" Mark asks incredulously. 

"I've got a rear stand propping the bike up, it’s fine. I've got you." Johnny tugs at the drawstring of his pants, undoing the loose knot. He slips his hand in, curling it around the length with a laugh. "No underwear?"

"I was going to do laundry!" Mark protests. Technically, he's done most of his laundry, he would have finished by now if Johnny hadn't completely derailed his attention.

"Is that why you're wearing my jacket?" Johnny gives his cock a pump, then another, stroking him until he's fully stiffened up in his palm and his brain has short circuited mid-thought process. He's finding it difficult to gather the words to explain that leather isn't machine washable, and honest to god, he was cold and put on the wrong jacket.

It's embarrassing how easily he crumbles under Johnny's touch, one hand playing with a sensitive nub, and the other working his equally sensitive cock until it's red and aching.

" _Hyung_ ," he rasps, whining with the twist of Johnny's wrist up his length. His grasp circles firmly around the crown, thumb sliding across the slit and smearing pre-come across the head. Mark rocks his hips back and forth into the grip, and the press of Johnny's erection against his ass rouses something carnal inside him, a familiar ache that needs to be filled. "I said— I said we're doing this once, don't blow it with a handjob."

Johnny relents, pulling his hand away with an amused throaty chuckle. Strangely, he's torn between wanting Johnny to touch him more and not wanting it to all end too quickly.

"Alright, alright, wait right here." Johnny presses a quick peck to his neck, then the warmth behind him is gone.

A beat passes, the telltale sound of a car door opening is all Mark needs to know that Johnny is searching for the travel sized bottle of lube that was left in the vehicle the first time ( _and last time!_ Johnny reminded) they fucked in there. Johnny soon emerges after a few moments of fumbling through the glove compartment.

"You just left that in the car?" Mark stares down the bottle in his hands, not with aversion but with surprise. As awful as Johnny made the experience in the car out to be, Mark was content with what happened considering he spent most of the time giggling at every menial struggle Johnny faced.

He half expected Johnny not to find the lube though, maybe they could finish in the comfort of a bed like normal people. But with every passing second, he finds the idea of getting railed while straddling a motorcycle more appealing. Maybe his dick is currently mediating too many of his thoughts, it's hard to discern how much he likes this.

"Your tendency for fucking in strange places is something I've learned to be prepared for." He waves the bottle at Mark.

"My tendency?" Mark exclaims, offended, "You're the one who started _this_!"

A wicked grin spreads across his face. He approaches the bike like a predator cornering its prey, hungry and ready to pounce. Like prey, Mark stares at him frozen, a chill runs down his spine like cold sweat. "And I plan on finishing this."

Before Mark is able to respond, Johnny mounts the bike again. With a hand splayed between Mark's shoulder blades, he pushes him down until his chest is flush against the fuel tank, face mere inches away from the windshield. An indignant squeak escapes his lips, hands flying up to grip the handlebars so he doesn't topple off while Johnny easily manhandles him into place. 

Johnny gets a solid grip on his hips, urging Mark to straighten his legs so his pelvis is now hovering above the seat. He pushes Mark's pants down, elastic snapping snugly under his asscheeks, framing both globes perfectly. His cock hangs heavily between his legs, brushing against the leather as it bobs with every jostle.

Mark doesn't need to look to know that Johnny is staring at him — at his _ass_. A flush automatically creeps its way up his neck, spreading hotly across his face. He's still mostly clothed, but despite this, he feels so exposed held under Johnny's gaze. 

This isn't anything new, Johnny ogles his ass all the time, has eaten him out and finger fucked him until he writhed and cried and begged for release. This amount of visceral embarrassment should be easy to handle, but something hot spurs in his gut, he could almost feel the way Johnny avidly rakes his gaze over his body, ready to devour him whole.

"God, I'll never get sick of your ass." Johnny grabs two handfuls of each cheek, spreading them apart, and quickly releasing them to give each cheek a playful smack. It's not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough for the sound of skin striking skin to resound through the space. He repeats the action again with two subsequent sharper strikes that leaves his skin hot, red, and stinging.

"Fuck." Mark arches his back, the weight of his jacket pulls his shirt down along his back, exposing a hefty stripe of skin. Johnny takes this moment to push it further down, bunching the fabric up his torso. "Get on with it."

"Don't be so bossy. I'm trying to have a lil' fun here, you know, savour the moment." Johnny soothes his hand against the heated skin, "It's not every day you get a pretty boy bent over your bike like this."

The click of the bottle opening punctuates his words as an echo. Mark wants to argue that he — supposed pretty boy — finds himself in this position — bent over — more often than not. Usually sans motorcycle. It's not like that really matters to Johnny and his raging boner over pretty boys and motorcycles though.

Any thoughts regarding his frequent episodes of compromising positions are erased by cold lube being drizzled onto his skin, slicking between his crack and dripping down onto his pants and seat.

"You jerk!" Mark startles, sending a betrayed glare over his shoulder. Johnny smiles back at him, feigning innocence as he smears the lube across his entrance. It warms up as he massages his fingers across the hole, smearing down to fondle his balls and tug at his cock. Mark clamps his jaw shut, suppressing a desperate moan threatening to escape.

It's an absolute mess, sloppy and wet, and if he didn't want Johnny's fingers inside him so badly, he'd find it gross. Maybe he would lament about the excess laundry he'll have to do if Johnny wasn't already pressing one finger against his hole. It lewdly squelches as it sinks in.

"Happy?"

Instead of a vocal affirmation, Mark exhales a content sigh, head dropping between his shoulders, and fingers grappling around the grips. He widens his stance to get enough leverage to push back against Johnny's hand, a silent plea for more which Johnny diligently gives him. Johnny has his limits too, and Mark wonders just how painful it is to have his dick trapped in skin tight denim while fingering and teasing a boy with no personal relief of his own.

Mark thinks he's a patient person, even as Johnny works two fingers agonizingly slowly into him. It takes a few attempts of Johnny hooking the curl of fingers to make Mark shake, and by three fingers his knees are wobbling and a thin sheen of sweat breaks out under all his clothes. If he wasn't leaning on the bike, he would probably be on the floor right now, and Mark can't find it himself to care about how or where Johnny takes him, the floor sounds just as good if it means getting Johnny's cock stuffing him full.

"I'm— _oh_ — 'm good," Mark whines breathily. He twists to throw a pleading, fucked out look over his shoulder, eyes completely glazed over with arousal and lips parted, shiny with saliva. He catches Johnny's eyes and the mirth behind them mocks him.

Johnny spreads his fingers, insistently working him open and stroking the pads of his fingers against the sensitive bundle of nerves. It puts Mark's attempt at keeping himself up to vain, his legs buckle and finally give out. He drops down almost painfully onto the seat, cock throbbing where it's trapped between his stomach and the seat, pre-come slicking the leather.

"Cut it out!" He sobs, thighs quivering and straining. He's so embarrassingly hard, edged too close and in near tears. He's so glad Johnny can't see his face right now, though his body language and whining screams desperate.

Mark doesn't know if it's relief he feels when Johnny pulls his fingers out, but he aches to be filled again, even if it means getting Johnny's cruel digits in him. He manages to get a few calm breaths in to settle his frayed nerves, bringing himself down a step by the time Johnny has himself in his hand, coating his length with lube.

He places a hand on Mark's lower back, "Do me a favour and raise your hips up a bit, babe."

Without hesitation, Mark's back bows, ass lifting up just enough for Johnny to slide himself in slowly. This truly is a testament to his patience, but once again he's alight, a wave of arousal tingles through his body. By the time Johnny is fully seated all the way in, Mark is panting, breath fogging up the windshield and fingers curling tight around the grips.

"Shit, you look like an absolute dream," Johnny nearly growls, hips rocking gently, "Feel like one too."

Mark is flexible, but he still expects his back to get blown out by the end of this. He wants to feel the ache later as a testimony that fucking in strange places is valid, even if he didn't initiate it this time.

Johnny starts off slow, he always does despite Mark's insistent begging for something harder, something rougher each time. The slow build is good though, he can't complain because he does enjoy feeling every inch of Johnny's length stretching him wide with every thrust. He just loves how easily he opens up for Johnny.

"Harder," Mark demands, earning him a particularly rough thrust, hitting deliciously deep. Then another, and another. Mark meets his thrusts half way, hips pushing back with what little grapple he still has on his coordination.

"So gorgeous, you're so pretty, an absolute dream," Johnny moans hoarsely, hands gripping his hips tight enough to leave marks, "My good boy, splayed out on my bike wearing my jacket."

"Your good boy," Mark mutters, restrained but pleased.

"You're the only person I've let on this bike, you know, and god do you ride it well," he praises with a hand smoothing up and down his back.

Mark sobs, fucking himself back because he sure as fuck rides cock well. Right now, he's having trouble keeping up with the relentless force Johnny puts out, and Mark wonders just how much he can take before he's crashing. He doesn't really dwell on it, he asked for this and he's going to enjoy every single sharp jab against his prostate, even if the only way he can vocalize his pleasure is a jumble of whines and moans. 

"Hyung, hyung, oh— oh god, oh god. Good, so good," Mark babbles. 

"You're..." Johnny braces and arm across Mark's chest, hauling him upright and presses his mouth next to his ear, hissing, "so fucking loud."

Johnny slips two fingers between Mark's parted lips, muffling his cries. The angle is a little too awkward for anything fast and rough, his pace slows down and Mark wants to cry. Actual tears welling up in his eyes. 

"I'm surprised no one has walked in with how loud you are, but you wouldn't care would you?" Johnny tuts.

It's rhetorical but Mark still tries to shake his head, garbling his denial the best he can. He already feels humiliated, being so exposed like this, yet his moaning is just as loud even with two digits shoved into his mouth. All those fingers do is force a sloppy amount of drool out of his mouth and down his chin.

"I think Yuta's around, he probably wouldn't pester me about my bike anymore if he saw you like this, maybe he wouldn't openly flirt with you too when I'm around." Johnny relents, pulling his fingers out of his mouth and slides them down to his throat, leaving a messy trail of saliva across his skin. 

He brings a hand up to grab a hold of Johnny's hand, maneuvering his fingers to wrap around his throat. He hears Johnny suck in a breath, fingers flexing before he closes them around his throat, gradually tightening his hold. 

Mark nearly blacks out with how his head spins, vision going blank for a moment and then Johnny releases him, a rush of relief with his first inhale as he falls forward. He grips the bike to steady himself when his chest makes contact with the fuel tank once again.

His senses have gone haywire. The wet, sticky slap of skin is absolutely filthy, it's all he hears, and his vision is obscured by a thin layer of tears. He feels absolutely overwhelmed, hips aching with the force of how hard Johnny pounds into him. He ruts against the leather, practically humping the seat. The friction is good, just enough relief against his neglected cock to send him over the edge. That’s how he comes, grinding his cock against the leather with a series of moans.

Johnny holds him down by the hips, leaning over his back as his pace continues. He's unrelentless, a little arhythmic and desperate for his own release.

"Gonna fill you up, make you sloppy," Johnny groans, it's guttural, voice raw and strained. In response Mark manages a non-committal whine, still trying to grapple his post-orgasm thoughts together.

"Shit," Johnny gasps, hips stuttering as he pushes himself in deep, and grinding his hips. He fucks his release into him shallowly, and Mark quivers from the overstimulation.

Mark would feel filthy if he wasn't already covered in so much lube and his own come. It makes the come dripping out of him and down his thighs feel like nothing amongst this mess. With shaky arms, he pushes himself upright, almost losing his balance again, but Johnny catches him before he tumbles off the bike with his arms around his waist.

"That's on you." Mark wrinkles his nose at the come smeared against his stomach and leather. "Can't believe you made me do something so sacrilegious. Some motorhead out there is probably screaming."

"It's faux leather, it's fine, I was going to wash the bike anyway."

"Yeah, and I have to do more laundry, _and_ take a shower," Mark huffs. Johnny coaxes him to turn his head with a guiding hand on his jaw and kisses the pout off his lips.

"After," Johnny soothes his hands along his sides, "we'll go on a real ride, what do you say?"

Mark contemplates, he's not sure how he's going to sit in this seat without popping a boner after what had transpired. Maybe it'll be worth it, though, only good things seem to be associated with this bike.

"As long as it's romantic."

**Author's Note:**

> [writing twitter](https://twitter.com/johnmarkten) | [main twitter](https://twitter.com/agustbwi) | [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/everbloom)
> 
> Use a condom, don't fuck on motorcycles, follow me on twitter.


End file.
